


Before Sunsets

by jazzypizzaz



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, accidental date, unexpected reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz
Summary: As a romantic sunset cruise casts off from the dock, two diners remain alone at their tables, stood up by their dates.  (Or were they?)  A mysterious server decides to play matchmaker...





	1. Appetizer

**Author's Note:**

> very vaguely inspired by the movie _Before Sunset_ and [this tumblr post ](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/167589142618/imagine-person-a-trying-to-scam-a-free-meal-in-a)

The boat sways at its dock in a bay on Tyree, the purple waters in stark contrast to the surrounding desert hills.  Two suns glare hot, though they hang low near the horizon.  Small waves ripple, but the interior of vessel is as stable as any land-based restaurant in the quadrant, with an unmistakable ambience.

 

Inside this boat is a swanky dining hall, its passengers cooing and flirting with each other over tables sculpted from Risian coral structures.  A light floral scent wafts from the streamers of Betazed orchids that wind around the pillars and hang from the ceiling.  Bioluminescent seedpods from Rigel float around the room, casting romantic glows over every sly smile or twitching antennae.  Each dining lovebird has eyes only for their partner.  

 

Each, that is, except for two unmatched figures.

 

The expressionless one sits in a back corner, with full view of the dining hall near the discreet staff exit.  He appears to humanoid, with the type of small wrinkles and blemishes derived from age rather than species.  A lone rose lays haphazardly on the table, in front of the empty chair across from him.  He sits with his head resting on his fisted hand, surveying the room with a focus that would be more concentrated if his attention did not keep sliding towards one particular table on the far side of the hall.  

 

A server interrupts this surveillance with a professional apology in the lines of his mouth.  He has that nose wrinkle distinctive of Bajorans and is wearing a black sleek hooded robe as a uniform -- an homage to desert surrounding the purple bay.  “Excuse me, Mr. Odel, is it?  Unfortunately there appears to be a mix-up with our matching system.  You won’t be joined with a blind date tonight as advertised.  We would be thankful for your understanding of our difficulties.”  

 

The man -- apparently named Mr. Odel -- grunts his acknowledgement of this news, but otherwise barely reacts.  The server’s nose wrinkles appear to flatten out for a moment, a trick of the lighting perhaps.  Odel squints briefly at the server, then continues his attention towards surveying the room.

 

“This is our maiden voyage and we’re ironing some kinks out, but we hope you will stay to enjoy the dining experience regardless.  We can offer you as compensation --”

 

“Never mind never mind,” Odel says, in a gruff graveling voice, waving his hand dismissively at the server.  

 

“We here at Tyree Sunset Cruises care deeply about retaining all our customers for this trip --”

 

“I’m sure I will have a thoroughly adequate experience.”  Odel with a small sigh contorts his face into a smile.  “Thank you for your concern.”

 

The server frowns slightly at this, but leaves his passenger to continue staring across the room.  

 

For there, if we follow Odel’s gaze, at a middle table sits the other lone diner, surrounded by happy couples.  He appears to be having a very different reaction to his situation.  

 

The ridges of his face deepen as he scowls.  Unlike the other man’s calm focus, this one seems constantly in motion.  He fidgets and fusses.  He adjusts his turquoise-brocade jacket. He picks imaginary lint off his vest.  A full bouquet of Argelian lilies are carefully arranged in a vase at the place setting of the empty seat across from him, and every so often he reaches across to reposition the blossoms.  The petals wilt from too much handling.  The expressive man occasionally steals nervous glances toward the main entrance behind him.

 

A server, this one Andorian with holes poked through the hood for his antennas, approaches his table, double-checking a restaurant PADD in his hands.  “Mr. Quack --”

 

“Quark.”  

 

“I’m sorry to inform you --”

 

Quark’s scowl grows mutinous.  “This ship better not be leaving.  All your passengers haven’t arrived.”  

 

“Mr. Crack --”

 

“Quark.”

 

“We’ve already been waiting for fifteen minutes past schedule --”

 

“She told me she was coming, she’ll be here.”  Quark’s scowl slides into a placating grin.  “She’s very important, you know, you wouldn’t want to cross her.”

 

The server’s antennas twitch.  “Our captain insists.  It wouldn’t be fair to the other customers to miss the timing of the sunsets --”

 

Quark’s grin vanishes. He abruptly stands up, chair screeching out behind him, and his hands flail in indignation.  “Unbelievable!  I’ll leave right now, and you won’t like what happens next.  I paid good money for this overpriced canoe ride, and as a prominent and influential businessman in this sector if you think I won’t tell every customer of mine that they’ll just be wasting their latinum on such uncaring--”

 

“Please, sir,” the server says, his voice smooth and persuasive.  “Sir, if you agree to stay for dinner anyway, we can give you a half-refund for your date’s ticket and are prepared to upgrade your wine selection to --” the server checks a PADD “-- the Bog-Aged Riesling.”

 

“Oh.”  Quark’s anger vanishes.  “The one made from slugs picked by glebbening thunder, under a half moon?  That’s got to be worth thirty strips.”

 

Quark calmly sits back down.  Then, with a showy flourish he whips out a handkerchief from his breast pocket.  His eyes grow large and woeful and he dabs at them delicately.  

 

“While I appreciate this somewhat generous offer.  I -- I --”  he heaves a big put-upon sigh.  “I don’t know if I could even taste it.  Through the heartbreak.  You see, it’s not so much the money, as that I’m not getting the full experience of your advertised romantic evening at sea!  Perhaps… with a _full_ refund, for _both_ tickets…”

 

The server rolls his eyes, then checks his PADD, typing out a few things.  “We might be able to refund for the cruise portion, but a full discount… Hmm…”  The server squints, considering the options, then a wave of epiphany ripples across his face.  He looks across the room, towards the back corner.  His polished smile returns.  “If it’s a romantic evening you want… How would you like a better solution to your problems?”

 

“ _You’ll_ pay _me_ for dinner?”  Quark perks up.  

 

“Better!”  The server’s antennas twitch with excitement.  “If you’ll follow me, sir…”

 

Quark tilts his head, mumbling to himself as he trails behind him. “I wouldn’t advertise for _free_ after all…”

 

“I’m pairing you with a new date for the evening!  Mr. Quank, meet --”

 

The server weaves in between tables.  Quark heaves with annoyance, but before he can correct his name, the server stops suddenly.  Quark almost runs into him.  

 

“-- Odot.  Odot, Quank.”

 

“It’s QUARK.   _Honestly_ ,” Quark half-shouts.  Then, after a double-take at the man in front of him, his jaw drops.  He plops without ceremony into the empty chair, suddenly drained.

 

“I’ll leave you two to it.”  The server backs away with a smug grin.

 

“Quark,” Odel (or Odot) grunts from between tight lips, a warning not to make a scene.

 

“ _Odo_ ,” Quark breathes.  

 

They stare at each other in silence for a long awkward moment.  


	2. Side dish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uFZUk0iPtU), if you would like some music while you're reading. :-)
> 
> Particularly suitable are track #2 ("Though people say we're an unlikely couple/I'm seeing double of you") and track #5 ("Time goes by and people lie and everything goes too fast"). And the general ~longing~ in the other tracks stirs my shipper's heart...

Then they both start in at once, talking over each other:

 

“I don’t see your freak face for five years and now you look like _that_?”

 

“Did the bar finally go out of business or are you hiding from the law?”

 

“I hate it.  Your face.  It doesn’t fit.”

 

“You _aren’t_ supposed to be here.”

 

“You had years to perfect it, and  _that’s_ what you come up with?  Or did you just forget what you look like?”

 

“You shouldn’t have recognized me.”

 

“At least you _sound_ the same.”

 

“You need to leave this boat now.  I have no intention of --”

 

“What, don’t want to get caught on a date with --”

 

A blaring horn cuts them both off.

 

Both Quark and Odo’s attention are drawn to the nearby porthole window.  As they were squabbling, the ship had cast off into the waters.  Now the dock grows smaller amidst the violet waves.  They’re stuck here on the boat until the cruise ends.

 

A server, this time Bolian but with a similar facial structure as the last two, arrives with a tray of champagne and sets one down in front of each of them.  He smiles broadly.  “So nice to see you two hitting it off!  I’m sure you’ll enjoy your dinner here, together.  Cheers!”  He winks.

 

Quark does a slight double take as the server walks off.  “Didn’t he used to have antennas?"  He turns back to Odo.  "And you!  You changed your face!  All non-Ferengi start to blend together sometimes but this is unnerving.”  

 

Odo, ignoring Quark, huffs.  “You can go back to your own table now.”

 

“This _is_ my table.  Or did you not hear him?”  Quark says, almost giddy.  “We’re going to enjoy dinner together.”

 

“You are not welcome here.”

 

“I paid good money for a romantic evening tonight, and I intend to have it.”

 

“You’d have better luck jumping off the ship and hoping whatever creature lurks in these waters takes pity on you.”

 

“Hmph.”  Quark twists his mouth, then shrugs.  “Doesn’t matter, you’re stuck with me,” he says.  “Did you miss this?  Us, arguing like old times?”  

 

When Odo doesn’t answer, Quark gives a strained chuckle.  

 

Odo sighs.  “No.”

 

Quark swallows his chuckle.  After a long look at Odo’s foreign face, as if drinking him in, Quark picks up the discarded rose on what is now his place setting.

 

“So.  Who --” he starts, sounding a little strangled, then clears his throat.  “Who was this for?”

 

“No one,” Odo says, blank and unconcerned.

 

“You got stood up didn’t you,” Quark says.  Odo doesn’t react.  

 

Odo shakes his head.  “It is what is termed a ‘blind’ date.  But I wasn’t matched.”

 

“Oh, yeah I remember that option from the brochure.” Quark says.  “Sure.”

 

Odo looks past Quark, apparently set on tracking the movements of the Bolian server, who is still dropping champagne off at various tables.  The Bolian smiles and charms the various couples, apparently delighting in his work.

 

Watching Odo, Quark softens. “Unless… Was it -- did you come back for Kira?”

 

“No, Quark.”  Odo sounds tired and distracted.

 

Quark tilts his head and searches Odo’s expressionless face.  “Well.  I’m sure she’s doing just fine without you too.”

 

“Hmph” is Odo’s only response to that.

 

Quark turns over the rose in his hand.  “You think I would believe you came back from the Great Link _for a blind date_?  On a very expensive romantic dinner cruise, nonetheless?   _You_?”

 

“I don’t particularly care what you believe, Quark.”

 

“You left -- _her_ \-- for the Link, and you can’t expect her to drop everything and meet you on a whim --”

 

“Go back to your own table, Quark, and leave me alone,” Odo growls.  Then a cruel grin curls onto his face.  “Oh wait...”  He wags his head a bit at Quark.  “You _can’t_ go back to your table.  You’re all alone too.   _You’re_ the one that got stood up.”

 

Quark pouts.  “No…”

 

“No?” Odo says, smug.

 

“No, I --”  Quark licks his lips, then straightens up.  “Well, since you’re no longer the Constable I suppose I can tell you.  It was a scam.”

 

“Oh really.”

 

“I -- it was my plan.  To play on the romantic sympathies of Tyree Sunset Cruises, LLC, for a free meal.”  Quark grins, pausing either for dramatic effect or to buy time to think of his next words.  He lowers his voice, leaning in a bit.  “Plus, it’s reconnaissance for my own enterprises.  I’m already getting ideas about what not to do -- the wait staff for one are incredibly _rude_ , so unprofessional --”

 

“And that bouquet of flowers was part of the scam?  Those come with a not insignificant price tag.  Almost twenty slips of latinum, as I recall.”

 

Quark opens his mouth, then shuts it.  “It was an investment.”

 

“How?  A simple Bajoran tulip would have sufficed.  Not very good business sense.”

 

“Like you would know.”  

 

“I may not be the Constable anymore, but you still can’t lie to me Quark.  Your blind date took one look at you and ran back to the ship she came in on.”  Odo chortles.

 

“It _wasn’t_ a blind date.  Puh-lease, how pathetic do you think I am?  I get laid the old-fashioned way, through my powers of seduction.”  Quark winks, stroking the outer rim of his lobe.

 

“You mean by mooning over her day and night, falling over yourself to figure out what she wants and how _you_ could please her, until finally, one day, she acquiesces to one teeny little date.”  Odo smirks. “And then, she _still_ doesn’t show up.”

 

Quark frowns.  His shoulders sink.  “Better than finding love, only to give up on it,” he mutters.  

 

Odo’s smug grin slips away.

 

Quark looks down at the place setting and starts to fiddle with the cloth napkin, laying it on his lap.  “Is this stupid boat going to wait all night to serve the meal, or what?  This is taking forever.”

 

As if on cue, a server shows up with a laden tray.  She’s wearing the same uniform as the other ones, Vulcan ears poking up beneath the hood, and a dazzling smile.  Quark squints at her, but is immediately distracted as she places an appetizer of what looks like tentacled sea creatures glistening in a vinaigrette in front of each of them.

 

"Your ears just changed shape," Quark says to her.  "And where's the other guy?  The blue one?"

 

"Now, now."  The Vulcan's smile is strained, but accommodating.  “Your starter course is Risian cuttlefish, perfect for you two cuddle-fish!  Served seaside style.”

 

"Great.  But trust me _I know ears_ , and yours have grown pointier since you've been standing here.  Not that I mind!  They're quite attractive, but --"

 

"Quark..." Odo groans.

 

"Perhaps you'd like more champagne?" the server says, still smiling.  Odo gives a quick nod to her question. 

 

"Alright, but you should really have that looked at!" Quark says.  "I know a guy, and he gives good referral fees."

 

She frowns first at Odo's full glass, then at Quark's suspicious expression before walking off.

 

Odo grimaces at the food, then ignores it.  With a shrug, Quark digs in.

 

“I forgot how weird it was to have dinner with someone who doesn’t eat."  Quark smacks his lips, apparently enjoying the dish.

 

“I’m sure your ‘lover’--" Odo imbues the word with heavy sarcasm "-- would have enjoyed it.  If she bothered to show up.”

 

“Ro wasn’t my --”  Quark groans in frustration and stabs at a curled leg.  It slips away from his fork.  “Oh, what do you care.”

 

Odo pokes a piece of the cuttlefish and holds it up to his face, carefully studying its shape.  “I don’t require the ingestion of food, but I haven’t yet tried shifting into this one.”  He flicks out a finger, and it transforms into a small tentacle, suckers opening and closing.  He does the same with another finger, then another, until his whole hand is an undulating mass.

 

Quark watches with horror, fork halfway to his mouth.  His own bite slips off and plops back onto his plate.  “ _Odo_!  That’s disgusting, put it away put it away.”

 

Odo chuckles to himself, shifting his hand back to normal.

 

“Is that the kind of entertainment you have in the Great Link?  What a great joke.  A whole big pool of nasty freaks, sprouting Klingon ridges and Culican pinchers and  --”

 

Odo scoffs.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Of course not.  Your people are far too dignified for that.  All the opportunity and they’d rather sit in a big puddle.  What a bore.”  Quark chews, considering.  “Although at least they’re not murdering anyone who disobeys their rule anymore, right?  There’s that.”

 

Odo frowns.  “No.  I’ve been teaching them about solids, from what I learned.”  He squints, catching sight of a server, the first Bajoran one, refilling a lucid green drink for a couple several tables over and clearing plates as people finish.  The Vulcan one is no longer around.  He hesitates, then says, “There have been centuries of the Dominion’s isolation and oppression to undo.”

 

“But five years with the Beige Fist of Justice, and it’s done?  Just like that, they’re not genocidal maniacs anymore?”

 

Odo snorts.  “I’m surprised to find you think so highly of me.”

 

“I just want to make sure I won’t wake up to another war, that’s all.  Or to you turning your fascist rule back on us solids again.“

 

“You’ll have to find some other poor law official to terrorize.”  Odo smirks, but it’s faint and a little distant.  “There is still much work to be done, with the Link.”

 

“Well good luck with that then.”  Quark scowls, stabbing wildly at the remaining tentacle on his plate, chasing it around the watercress garnish.  

 

The Bajoran server appears to whisk away their plates, and Quark is left clutching his fork with nothing to impale. 

 

Out the window the two suns hang lower, casting a golden glow over the diners.


	3. Entree

Couples who have been relishing in good company and sparkling conversation now bask with cozy silence in the warmth of the golden light.  There's a lull in the room, as the glow makes every face more alluring, more heartfelt, and diners gaze upon each other, thanking good fortune they found their way to such beauty.  This may be the suns' aesthetic effect, or perhaps romance in general which casts these lovers' eyes in the best possible light, but regardless none are immune.

 

Or rather, none except two diners in particular, who instead find themselves at opposite ends of contemplating what type of fortune led them to their current situations.

 

“You haven’t asked -- quite rude -- but _I’ve_ been doing quite well since you left.  Very successful.”  Quark fiddles with the fork still in his hand.

 

“Yes I’m sure you have,” Odo says, layered with enough sarcasm to relay the opposite.

 

“I have!  All it took was for you to leave, and the Great River flowed with opportunity.”

 

“Rom stepped down for you to become the Grand Nagus?  You finally own your own moon?  Or perhaps the bar’s making a solid profit, for once?”

 

Annoyance flits across Quark’s face, but only for a moment.  He puffs himself up with a show of pride and gestures grandly with the fork.  “I’m the proprietor, developer, and visionary for Quarknucopia: Land of Plenty, pleasure park for the discerning vacationer, trademark pending, coming to a planet near you.”

 

“Hmph!” Odo snorts.  “Now you’ll never be able to dig your way out of debt.  Or should I ask, what poor schmuck did you steal the startup money from?”

 

Quark gives a toothy grin.  “'Never ask when you take.'  But before you start in, I _inherited_ the land from my dead uncle Florp --”

 

“On some podunk nothing moon on the edge of the galaxy no doubt.”

 

“On _Ferenginar_.  It’ll be the testing ground.  Then when I have enough profits, I’ll start a franchise.”

 

“Because Ferenginar is so welcoming for off-world tourism.”  Odo smirks.

 

“ _No_."  Quark grimaces.  "Not yet anyway, but I’m planning to change that!”  

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“Take Tyree, for example.  It’s a desert planet, but with this company’s terraforming technology they’ve managed to carve out this place -- gorgeous sunsets every night, perfect temperate weather, a large lake that doesn’t evaporate immediately --”

 

“Because Ferenginar’s swamps are so similar to Tyree?  Hmph.”  Odo scoffs at Quark, but then a look of mild concern flits across his face.

 

“ _No_ , but it has similar ionized atmosphere that makes weather control difficult.”

 

“And makes scanning the planet difficult…” Odo says slowly, puzzling something together.  “Hiding in plain sight, no wonder…”

 

“Sure I guess, but the _point_ is --”

 

The Andorian server arrives with two plates piled high with rainbow colored noodles.  

 

"Oh, now you're back!  You do have antennas then."  Quark squints up at him, transfixed by the body part in question, which flick out to the side.  "They're not like proper Ferengi lobes, are they?  But I'm sure they have their own fun, right?"  Quark puts fingers up beside his own head, flicking them back and forth in mimicry.  He lowers his voice with innuendo, winking at the server.  "I for one wouldn't mind finding out."  Odo frowns.

 

“This is our main course!  We find that it's a dish lovers often like to feed each other, as a fun, sensual experience.  _You two_ might try it," the server says, pointedly countering Quark's advances.  "Risian pasta, with every noodle full of flavor carefully balanced according to a variety of humanoid palates --”

 

“ _Humanoid_ palates?” Odo says, directing at the server the intentional, directed stare of an interrogator.  

 

The server’s expression falters for a moment, before his smooth customer service smile reappears as if it never left.  “Why of course, humanoid." 

 

"As opposed to...?"

 

"As you can see in this room, we serve a wide customer base from across the Quadrant and we aim to --”

 

“You aim to please, yes yes, I know,” Odo growls, rolling his eyes.  “Making your customers happy is your number one priority, of course.  What I want to know is what your intentions are, for these _humanoid_ palates --”

 

“Odo!” Quark gives an affronted gasp, clasping his chest.  “The hospitality sector is a noble, highly esteemed profession, and I won’t abide by this slander.  Their intentions are to make money, of course!  And with the prices this cruise charges, it _must_ be lucrative --”

 

“Quark, if you could butt out of what doesn’t concern you, for once in your miserable --”

 

"Our goal is for you to find true love, kindle romantic connection..."  The server smiles awkwardly, trailing off when Quark and Odo remain focused on each other.  With a slight bow, the server gives up and leaves.  

 

It takes a moment longer of bickering before they even notice he’s gone.

 

“Great!” Quark says, throwing up his hands.  Sullenly, he tries to twirl several of the red noodles onto his fork, but his movements are impatient and the noodles keep sliding off.  “Now we won’t get to hear more about this course.  What if there's a root beer flavored noodle?  I need to know which ones to avoid!  And might I remind you that the only reason I’m here is to get ideas for my own enterprises?”

 

“The _only_ reason.  A likely story.  Hmph.”

 

Quark dangles a blue noodle over his mouth, reaching out with his tongue to slurp it down before it can slide off.  

 

Odo frowns at this display, ignoring his own food of course.  Then he leans back with his arms crossed against his chest, tracking the Vulcan server that has now reappeared to dish out noodles for the next table over.  Several of the couples do appear to be sharing their dishes, exchanging various colors of noodles according to preference by dangling them over their dates' mouths to bite.  They appear to be having fun, relaxed, delighting in the novelty of the evening and each other.  Odo's scowl deepens.

 

"Huh, not bad.  Not root beer anyway." Quark follows Odo’s eyeline to figure out what he’s looking at, then snaps his fingers in front of Odo’s face to get his attention.  “Back to what I was saying.  The _point_ is that apparently all I needed to hit it big was for _you_ to get out of my way.”

 

The edges of Odo's mouth twitch upwards slightly, though he still doesn't look towards Quark.  “And a dead family member.  Which I’m sure was a great tragedy for you to overcome.”

 

“Yep, that too.”  Quark primly pats his mouth with his cloth handkerchief.  “Admit it.  It riles you up knowing I’m successful now that I’m no longer suffering under your tyranny.”

 

Odo scoffs, but more as an automatic response than that he’s invested in what Quark is saying.  

 

“Or have you left such mortal concerns behind, in your puddle of gods?”  This comes out bitter and sarcastic.  "You're not even here on a date at all are you?  On some boring official Dominion business, I expect?"

 

The Vulcan server, now several tables over, stops and cocks her head at Quark’s overly loud accusation, as if listening.

 

“ _Shhh!_ ” Odo hushes Quark, turning back to look at him finally, albeit with a harsh expression.

 

Quark, gleeful at the attention, shouts, “Don’t SHUSH me!  Are you on a date or not!”

 

“I'm not -- not with _you_.  Quark, I'm not here to entertain your incessant prattle --”

 

“You’re not here to entertain _anything_ , that’s for sure --”

 

“--and I have no interest in your lies about your current life or your insistence at calling this farce a date--”

 

“--and why _are_ you here then?  You don’t eat, you don’t date, you don't run a business--”

 

“--and I have no interest in _you_ , generally, so if you could eat your noodles in silence and leave me alone--”

 

“--and you gave up on all us solids.  You gave up on Deep Space Nine --”

 

“I see you've twisted everything about my departure in that warped head of yours."

 

"--and you gave up on _Kira--_ "

 

"I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

 

“And yet here you are.  At a table with me, and yet you still haven’t oozed away like I know you could, if you wanted to.”

 

“Hmph.  Don’t tempt me.”

 

“But you haven’t.  Because you still care.  Admit it.”

 

Quark, by this point, is flush with the exhilaration of the argument, half-raised out of his seat to lean over the table and gesturing in Odo’s face with a wayward blue noodle.  The noodle, with a mind of its own, spirals off of the fork and on to Odo's expressionless stare.  Slowly, blank-faced, Odo wipes it off with the back of his hand.  Now there’s a prolonged pause, as Quark waits for an answer.  

 

Sounds filter in, from the reverie surrounding them -- light chiming music from the orchids, gleeful slurps and pleased giggles from other diners, a distant toast to new connections, the gentle lapping of the waves outside.

 

Finally, Odo stares him square in the eye.

 

“I don’t care, about you,” he says simply.

 

Quark hovers for a moment, then the fight seems to deflate from him.  He lowers the fork, slowly.

 

“Fine,” Quark says and sits back down.  “I never said you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to [madamovary](http://madamovary.tumblr.com/) for coming up with the theme park name. :)


	4. Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is titled "dessert" because that's the course, but the sweetness is um... next chapter.

“If that’s how you want to be, fine.  That’s fine.”  Quark pushes around the remaining noodles on his plate, no longer hungry.  “I get it, okay?”

 

“I was never here for a date Quark.  I’m involved with other concerns.”

 

Quark waves this off and drinks the last of his champagne.  “Sure, sure.  Me too, remember?”

 

They sit in silence.  Quark occupies himself by idly shaping the noodles into numbers and accounting symbols with his fork.  Odo surveys the room, people-watching, but despite his efforts to focus elsewhere, his gaze keeps sliding back to Quark. A small furrow making its home on Odo's forehead.  

 

Quark eventually moves on to plucking out each petal one by one on Odo’s abandoned rose, stealing glances at him as if daring Odo to comment.  He doesn’t.

 

Finally, the Bolian server whisks their plates and utensils.  “Dessert will be out shortly!  Nice to hear such a companionable silence.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“And now that guy lost his antennas again,” Quark says, mostly to himself.  

 

“You do realize that Bolians and Andorians are different species--”

 

Quark continues on as if Odo hadn’t spoken.  “That’s as bad as you deciding to change your face--”  Abruptly, Quark freezes.  

 

His previous irritation at Odo vanishes from his expression.  One of the Rigelian seedpods pauses over his head, as Quark glows with sudden realization.  He carefully looks around, twisting in his seat to watch the Bolian server joke around with a beaming couple across the room.

 

“There’s only ever one server out and about at a time.  Did you notice that Odo?  Only one for this many tables, and they’re from different people, but they all look kind of alike.”

 

Odo raises his smooth brow at Quark, but doesn’t respond.

 

“Odo, don’t you think that’s strange?  Suspicious even?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh _really_.  Well I do.  What that’s about, I wonder --”

 

“Don’t concern yourself, Quark.”

 

Quark narrows his eyes at Odo.  “And _that_ is even more suspicious, that _you’re_ not suspicious --”

 

“And even less suspicious is how you’re as paranoid as ever.”

 

“No… no…”  Quark considers, as Odo sits there stalwart.  He snaps his fingers suddenly.  “You’re here, because you’re investigating him already, aren’t you?  No wait!  Oh!  The different faces -- she’s… he’s one of _you_ isn’t he?  She?  All of them...”  Quark lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

 

Odo looks severely unimpressed.  “They’re not a Founder, per say, if that’s what--”

 

“Well neither are you.  Or, you weren’t, once upon a time.  Just a lost shapeshifter without a friend.  It would do you good to remember,” Quark admonishes.  “But that’s clear enough, because he doesn’t know who you are.  Yet.  I assume you’re here to recruit him?  Gather up your lost cult members?”

 

“With my guidance, the Dominion is committed to maintaining peace with solids, and for that to be possible we have to trace the activities of the Lost Hundred, ensure they haven’t compromised our efforts, so if you for once would keep yourself out of it--”

 

Before Quark can retort, a server arrives at their table, with a similar shaped face as the others except now with the glinting silver mark of a Risian on his forehead, and a tray laden with desserts.

 

Quark winks at Odo, then says loudly to the server, “Must be hectic in the kitchen, I’m assuming?  Mr, um, you never said your name, well I mean none of you said your name...”

 

“Quark…” Odo warns.

 

“Hmm?”  The Risian places down a single serving of decadent pink froth sculpted in the shape of a Terran bird in front of Odo.  The bird’s neck curves long and elegant in a half arc, to where if it met a corresponding bird it would make the symbol of a Terran heart.

 

“Because we’ve never seen _you_ before…”  Quark waggles his browridge meaningfully at the server.  Then he trails off as he glances between Odo’s plate, the server’s tray of desserts to distribute, and his own empty place setting.  He taps the table in front of him with his hand.  “Never mind that, I think you’re forgetting something?”

 

The server clasps his hands together with an apologetic expression.    “Mr. Quark, I'm sorry that I can't serve your dessert, but --”

 

“Sure, now you know _my_ name.”  Quark narrows his eyes at him, wary of what’s coming.

 

“We were attempting to refund your previous date’s ticket--” the server says dropping his voice into a discreet whisper.

 

“Who is we!  It’s only you!”

 

“His _only_ date,” Odo interrupts.

 

“--but it appears that your payment transfer never went through to begin with.”

 

“So what?” Quark says.  “You were going to refund the whole thing anyway.”

 

“If you have another account you can draw from, or --” the server continues.

 

“And where’s my wine?  You were going to give me wine, that Riesling we discussed.”  Quark’s voice belies a rising panic.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that unless--”

 

“Unless what?  I’m a very prominent businessman, and if you don’t compensate me for my trouble here, then --”

 

“Unless you have valid payment.  The full cost is nonrefundable, as outlined in the brochure.”

 

Odo chuckles, abruptly.

 

“What?” Quark says to Odo.  “What is it?   _Now_ you have something to say to me?”

 

Odo smirks at him, knowingly.  “Successful businessman, but you can’t even pay for your own meal, hmm?  A pillar of the community you are, as always.”

 

Quark, flustered, pulls a petulant scowl at Odo, then turns back to the server.  “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement, if I could speak to your manager?  Or the blue guy that I talked to before.  Unless you _are_ the only one aboard?”

 

The server stutters for a moment.  His Risian mark seems to drift slightly on his forehead.  “We regret this small hiccup in your otherwise lovely evening, but if you have another account you can draw money from, or --”

 

“Another account!  He wants another account!  I will not be disrespected, by such _untoward_ accusations against my character --”  Quark’s voice rises in volume and dramatization, as he notices surrounding couples at surrounding tables now paying attention to the commotion.

 

“Alright!  Alright,” the server hisses in a tense whisper.  He motions for Quark to please, please sit down and be calm.  

 

“And you!” Quark shouts at Odo.  “Aren’t you here to brainwash him into joining your puddle or whatever?  Do something!”

 

Odo rolls his eyes and says to the server, “I’m afraid he’s had too much champagne.”

 

The server glances between them, politely confused.  “Right, okay.  I will return once we dock, and I will trust you can make arrangements for remunerations by that point.”

 

“Sure, and ruin the rest of my date, fascist!” Quark calls after the server, but he has his back turned, already hurrying on the next table over and ignoring Quark.

 

“He's very committed to this service industry facade,” Odo says thoughtfully.  "Maybe he doesn't have any deeper motives than to collect checks from cash-strapped, love-addled customers."

 

"A Changeling in _my_ business sector.  I don't like it."  Quark frowns, then looks at the frothy swan in front of Odo, now drooping.  “Here, at least give me your dessert.”

 

“No,” Odo says, but keeps his arms folded, making (of course) no move towards eating the dish.

 

“What do you mean no?  You won’t enjoy it, so I may as well.”

 

Quark reaches across the table towards the plate, but Odo’s arm unfurls, undulating into a carnivorous eel, native to Ferenginar’s icy poles.  Quark hastily withdraws his hand.  The eel shifts back to an arm as if it were never there.  With an amused grin, Odo pushes the plate towards Quark anyway.

 

“Unbelievable,” Quark says, immediately chopping off the swan’s head with a spoon to eat.  “Have you been practicing only sea creatures these past years, in the Great Sea of Assholes?”

 

“It’s thematic,” Odo deadpans, gesturing towards the window.  Tyree’s two suns have now painted orange and red across the sky, stark against the violet waters.  “We’re on an ocean.”

 

Quark snorts.  He takes another large bite of the dessert.  Then he notices the glimmer of shoreline coming into focus and makes a couple distressed froth-muffled sounds before swallowing.  Odo grimaces.

 

“Not on an ocean for long," Quark says.  "Me and my checkbook are on a countdown.”  With a deep sigh, he pulls out a personal PADD from his pocket.  “Those payments weren’t supposed to go through until after this dinner, we had a deal!  Hmm, maybe if I move this account into -- wait no.  Or maybe my cousin can -- no, I already borrowed from him.  Twice.  Or if--”

 

“What’s wrong Quark?  Have your criminal connections run dry?”  Odo’s smug face rests on his closed hand, elbow on the table, as he watches Quark’s desperation.

 

Quark rolls his eyes at Odo, but otherwise continues muttering under his breath as he jams at buttons on the PADD.

 

“Or don’t you have _any_ friends who can bail you out of the price of one measly dinner?”  Odo teases.

 

“Like you can talk, about friends,” Quark mutters, not fully rising to the bait.  He frowns as if considering, types something on the PADD, then hovers a single finger over the touchscreen, hesitating.

 

“Is my presence putting a damper on your criminal methods?”  Odo drawls, raising his brow in an expected one-up.

 

But Quark doesn’t react to the taunt, instead twisting his lip before abandoning the PADD without further action.  He sighs, drumming his fingers on the table and glancing around the room as if hoping a solution will appear out of nowhere.  

 

Odo cocks his head and clears his throat, trying to get Quark’s attention.

 

For the first time all night, Odo’s the one needling his distracted dinner partner, rather than the other way around.

 

“If you’re expecting to make a break for it, the ‘dine and dash’ as I’ve heard you complain about innumerous times on the receiving end, might I remind you I have not forgotten any of my skills as security chief.”  Odo leans forward, waiting for an acerbic comeback, some petulant excuse or another.

 

Quark snorts, then finally meets Odo’s eyes.  “Fine!  You want to know the truth?!” he rasps.

 

Odo blinks, taken aback slightly.

 

“The truth, is that I’m broke as Wiff the Wet-Lobed as he watched his empire of mudbath factories fall into sinkholes, one by one -- his entire life built on unstable ground from the start.  A modern horror story!  And me?  It’s been one fall from glory after another.”

 

“Glory?”  Odo scoffs.

 

Quark’s eyes widen.  “You’re right!  Hurts to admit, but you’re right!  I’ve fallen not from glory, but from one mediocre opportunity to the next, scrimping and scrambling all my life, and what have I got to show for it?"

 

Odo is taken aback, clearly not equipped to handle this change in mood.  "Enough criminal scams racked up to make my head slosh?"

 

"Nothing.”

 

“You have--” Odo pauses, struggling to remember “--Quarkland.  Your park.”

 

“Quarknocopia, Land of Plenty, or as my detractors would call it, Sinkhole of Untold Debts.  Never got off the ground.  Or rather, out of the quicksand.  I’ve been tangled up in contract renegotiations each with their own devastating loopholes, or embezzling employees, or ruinous partners, or construction companies that go bankrupt before they complete their work and no refund, or debtors with _impressive_ interest schemes…”  Quark buries his head in his hands.  “And the worst part is that it’s my own fault.”

 

“That’s never stopped you before,” Odo says, intending this as encouragement.  “You always find a way to squirm your way out of whatever trap you’ve built for yourself.  It’s your worst attribute.”

 

Quark ignores this attempt at consolation.  “I’ve been away from Ferenginar for too long, I’ve lost my devious edge.  Other Ferengi can hear my lobes shrivelling, and now they’re out for every last strip of mine.”  Quark droops in his seat.  “I’m doomed.”

 

Odo cocks his head at this pathetic sight.  He clears his throat, opens his mouth then closes it, awkward.  

 

“And here I thought I could convince Ro Laren, lovely skeptical woman that she is, that I was worth something.  She may be Federation these days, but she’s not dumb.  I’m nothing.”

 

Odo folds his arms across his chest.  He leans forward at information about Quark’s previous date, but takes a moment before figuring out what to say.  “There’s always the bar.”

 

“I sold it!  To Morn!  Ro got command of a ship, and everyone I used to know left the station already anyway.”

 

“Morn would give it back to you, if you asked,”  Odo says.  

 

The sharp curses of “charity” erupting from between other expletives across the table makes it clear that this line of inquiry is unwelcome.  “And anyway what’s a measly bar to a theme park franchise?”  And with that Quark heaves, then slumps over onto the table, face into his folded arms, and starts to sob.  “But I have ne-e-either!  I'm nothing.” 

 

The suns reach the edge of the horizon, kissing the calm waters.  The other couples rise to the windows to watch, arms around waists and heads on shoulders, basking in the beauty and peace of the moment.  Surveying the room from the sidelines, the server beams with satisfaction at all the sunset-lit lovers.  That is, until his gaze reaches the only two still seated and ignorant of the outside spectacle.  He frowns to himself, thoughtful. 

 

Back at that table, Odo shakes his head.  He stretches his arm towards Quark, as if to extend comfort, and lets it hang awkwardly over the table for a moment, without reaching Quark's sobbing shoulders.  Then he drops it back down without touching him.  


	5. Goodbye

“Perhaps...” Odo starts, then stops.  He clears his throat, eyes soft at the distraught man across from him.  “Perhaps it is my fault.”

 

“Wha-what?”  Quark peeks out from his arms, voice ragged. “What did - did - you say?”

 

“ _I said_ ,” Odo says, his irritation rising back up, “perhaps I had a role in your descent into complete and utter failure.”  

 

“Your - _hic_ \- fault, huh?” Quark says, with a few hiccups, but the sobs slow.  He wipes his eyes.  “I like the sound of that, go on.”

 

Odo scowls, but his eyes furrow tracing the tear-stained tracts on Quark’s face.  “For leaving you and your antics unchecked by justice.”

 

“I always did say you were the one that kept me on my toes, sharpened my cunning.”  Quark considers, perking up a bit from his misery.  “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

 

“I doubt my replacement was up to par, for example.”

 

“Well,” Quark says, drooping again in his seat, “Ro had her virtues.”

 

“The same Ro that--?” Odo starts, surprised, but one look at Quark’s returning miserable expression confirms.  He shakes his head disapprovingly.  “And yet she left you here to scam yourself a free dinner from a wayward Changeling.  Not very responsible of her.”

 

“She’s first officer on a starship now.  And I’m not on the station.  Definitely not in her jurisdiction.”

 

Odo clucks his shifted tongue.  “Tsk, tsk.  Once a security officer, always a security officer.  She should have known you and your wily crimes better than that.  She should have known you were up to something.”

 

“I suppose Ro never posed as a bottle of ale to eavesdrop on me.  Or hacked into my computer transmissions.”  

 

Odo snickers.  “Or shifted into a dabo wheel to catch the house cheating --”

 

“Only to pay out big money for all my customers!  I lost thirty strips that night.”  Quark’s face, still wet and orange from crying, shines with renewed brightness.

 

Odo smiles, nostalgic.  “Thirty strips of latinum that you cheated out of those same customers the previous evening --”

 

“You _never_ found any proof of that--”

 

“Yes I did; you were heavily fined!  More than once!”

 

“Huh.  That can't be right.  Oh!  Do you remember the time when Morn left me all that gold?  And a mudbath?”

 

“As I recall you ended up with five phasers to your head and a case of empty bricks.”

 

They share a companionable chuckle together, basking in warm memory.

 

“Ah well, it was worth it.  All of it.” Quark grins.

 

Odo shakes his head with amusement.  “Only you would see the faked death of a close friend as --”

 

“Except after all that  _you_ never said goodbye, when you left,” Quark says suddenly.  “And you never came back.”

 

Odo’s face, previously smirking about remembered misdeeds, falls. "I... I didn't realize--"

 

"Didn't realize what? That I'd care? After all those years--"

 

"I didn't realize it mattered," Odo says, then pauses, suddenly abashed.

 

"You didn't... you didn't realize it _mattered?!_ " Quark stares, as if the words had struck him across the face. Then, taking in Odo's hangdog expression, he softens. He repeats, slowly, "You... didn't realize it mattered. It mattered. You didn't realize..."

 

But before Quark spits out any further epiphanies, the Andorian server shatters the moment. “Oh good!  So happy that you two are finally getting along.  I had a hunch!  And nice to see you cheered up, Mr. Quank.”  

 

Quark's face plummets back into doom as reckoning come to pay, not even bothering to correct his name.

 

Around the dining hall, they notice that all the other diners have begun to exit; while they were immersed in conversation, the boat docked.

 

“I don’t have the money, but before you say anything I have experience in the food industry, I can work night and day to repay my debts, or rather hire someone else to --”

 

“At least until he finds a way to steal it back from you,” Odo says.  Quark scowls betrayal.

 

“I’m afraid we have all the staff we need,” the server says.  

 

“I bet you do,” Quark says darkly.  

 

“ _But_ ,” the server says, talking over Quark with his ever polished affect.  “I actually came with the good news that watching you two, after much thought, I have reconsidered.  I will give you a full refund.”

 

“That’s not fair!  Please, please, I beg that -- Wait what.”  Quark stares at him.  “You what.  What’s the catch?”

 

“No catch.  I started this enterprise, because I love people, all of them, and it’s my life’s calling to see them connect -- fall in love, find contentment in each other.”

 

“That’s a terrible business plan,” Quark says, dumbfounded.  “You’re going to lose a lot of money with a soft heart like that.”

 

Odo squints at the server, arms folded.  

 

“A few strips of latinum lost is worth knowing that two lonely people longing for a friendly face had a nice night.”  The server beams, guileless.  “I used to feel all alone, that there was no one who could understand me, but you know what?  I spent so long observing other people, trying to understand them, that I realized how many felt just like me, but spent their lives hiding that.  And how many of those were less alone than they thought, if only they would reach out.  That’s what I saw in you two.  And that’s what Tyree Sunset Cruises is all about.  Though I will need enough income to keep it afloat, overall.”

 

Odo and Quark stare at him for a long moment, flabbergasted.

 

“Changelings, infiltrating my noble profession with a bunch of nonsense ideals.” Quark finally says.  “Is this part of your plan Odo, to ruin me?”

 

“Changelings?” the server says, batting his eyes innocently.  “Here?”

 

Odo stands up, affecting an interrogator’s bearing.  He says to the server, “Give me your hand.”

 

The server shifts his eyes.  “I don’t see what this has to --”

 

“So we can _really_ talk.  I’m here to inspect what you’ve been up to these past decades; what your relationship to solids is.”

 

“I’m just a cruise line director, like I said.  I want nothing to do with the Dominion, if that’s what this --”  The server backs up, antennas swirling around.

 

“There’s no threat.  I only want to talk.”

 

The server looks between Odo, whose hand is outstretched, and Quark, who shrugs.  He tentatively reaches out, and when his fingertips reach Odo’s, they sink into each other.  His face contorts, flipping between species.  Odo closes his eyes as they link.

 

“Really?” Quark says, tapping his foot.  “You’re letting me be the third wheel on my own date?  What’s wrong with talking out loud?"

 

The two Changelings finally part.  Odo staggers backwards, struck.  The server gives a quiet nod to each of them, then gestures across the now otherwise-empty boat to the door.  Odo walks out to the dock, in a daze, and Quark, still eyeing the server with suspicion, quickly follows, eager not to be left behind.

 

Except for a few stragglers drawing out the evening, the other couples have made their way into the ships’ terminal, to catch their vessels away.

 

Quark runs up to stop in front of Odo, before they enter the terminal.

 

“What?  What was that about?  Aren’t you going to absorb him into your cult?” Quark needles.  “Did he brainwash _you_ , instead of the other way around?  Or was my food all poisoned because he secretly hates Ferengi?  Oh no, you would tell me if --”

 

“He was… _happy_.”  Odo says the word as if he’d never heard of it.  A wistful expression crosses his face.  “And he was telling the truth, all of it.”

 

“So you’re going to let him stay here, stealing all the good tourist business from me?” Quark frowns.  “What is the Dominion peace good for, if you can’t keep your errant people from interfering where they don’t belong?”

 

“He's obsessed with solids, with humanoid relationships," Odo grimaces.  "I don’t think the Link is ready for him yet.  Some day, maybe.”

 

“Huh.  A Changeling that's a people person.  That's new.”  

 

They stand there for a moment -- Odo openly staring at Quark, making no move towards the terminal, and Quark nervously avoiding eye contact.  The last sliver of day has slipped beneath the ocean, welcoming a cool evening breeze, and the glimmer of ships leaving the atmosphere twinkle overhead.

 

Quark rocks back on his heels, looking from Odo to the terminal.  He swallows.  “Well… I guess.  I guess this is goodbye again.  It could have been a worse evening I suppose --”

 

“Goodbye, hah!” Odo scoffs.  "You know very well I can't let that happen."

 

"You can't?"  Quark blinks rapidly, wide-eyed.

 

“A man who can’t pay for dinner isn’t likely to have a reliable ship.  Am I correct?”

 

“Yeah I suppose… I  _had_ assumed I could convince Ro to give me a ride back to Ferenginar, maybe stay a while…”

 

“Well I’m not about to let you scam some stranger into giving you a ride across the Quadrant.”

 

“You aren’t?” Quark says, now lighting up.

 

“I don’t even want to hear what kind of sob story you’ll come up with to talk your way on to a ship, all the while looting their cargo hold en route.  It would be completely irresponsible of me to not take precautions.”

 

"I had been eyeing that Tellarite couple, three tables over from us, and --"  Quark gives a jaunty whistle.  "The size of those pearls on her throat."

 

"Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't been here?  I won't be happy until I know you're blocked from your trouble-causing ways, for good this time!"  Odo scoffs.  His hand travels down to the small of Quark's back, pushing him along towards his ship.  "I may have to never leave you alone again."

 

"Really?  You'd do that?"  Quark beams.  "What a nightmare."

 

From day to night, summer to winter, the more things appear to change, the more they stay the same.  Like the arc of the suns across the sky -- from moody darkness to aching heat to sinking molten fire -- the two men settle into the horizon, together again.


End file.
